


Narbo Martius

by ariadnes_string



Series: In Any Tongue [3]
Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-01
Updated: 2011-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-24 05:17:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadnes_string/pseuds/ariadnes_string
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old friend lets Marcus and Esca test his chariot team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Narbo Martius

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: for the "vehicular" square on my kink_bingo card.  
> a/n: the third fic in a series that begins with "In Any Tongue" and continues in "With Our Arms Unbound"  
> a/n: I borrow the horse fair in Narbo Martius from Sutcliff's _Sword at Sunset_. The deleted scenes of the movie prove that movie!Marcus is as as good a charioteer as book!Marcus.  
>  a/n: continues on from the alternate ending of the movie.

By nearly silent mutual agreement, they’d veered west to pass through Narbo Martius on their way to the land they’d purchased farther south.

The horse fair was in full swing, and Esca had to brace himself a bit against the crush of people after the loneliness of the road. Beside him, he could feel Marcus tense as well.

It seemed a long time since they’d had much intercourse with others. Husbanding their meager funds, they’d slept out most nights on their journey south east. It was what they were used to, and in a way, what they preferred. Cooking over a smoky fire, lying shoulder to shoulder under the overspreading stars, pack horses tethered beside them, it had been almost like being north of the Wall again. Except that here the wind was dry, not wet, the nights barely cooler than the days.

They did not speak of what had passed during their time with the Seal People. They did not touch more than one would during the ordinary course of a day on the road together. But Esca would see Marcus trace a finger along the small scar on his wrist sometimes, distractedly, as if he hardly knew what he was doing. He wondered what the gesture meant.

The heat had bothered Esca for a while—or rather the glare of the sun had. He’d felt like a bug caught on a griddle, the sweat baking off his face before it had a chance to fall. He’d panted and squinted and—judging by the number of sympathetic looks Marcus had thrown his way—must have looked entirely miserable at times.

One particularly stifling day, Marcus had pulled his horse up short and cocked his head.

“Come on,” he’d said, sliding down and leading the beast off the road.

Esca had followed, slowed a little by the heat. By the time he’d reached the stream, Marcus’s tunic lay in a pile on the bank and Marcus himself was knee-deep in the water, splashing himself like a boy.

Esca had let himself stare for a moment. The climate agreed with Marcus. The sun had turned his skin an even, golden brown, lightened his hair. He seemed taller, too, as if he’d always been a little hunched in Britain, pulling his shoulders in and his chin down, without Esca even realizing it. Even the livid scars on his leg were starting to fade. He’d filled out, too, lost the pinched look he’d had since Esca had known him—a layer of plush flesh pillowing his muscles, smoothing out the long lines of his torso.

The bright sun had turned Marcus’s skin to satin, and Esca had bit his lip against the desire to follow the water’s caress with his own.

Marcus caught Esca looking and laughed.

“I grow fat,” he said, slapping his belly with a wet hand.

“You grow vain,” Esca told him, and kicked a spray of water in his general direction.

+++

They would need to ready the property before they bought studs and brood mares, but they checked the available stock carefully all the same. They would have plenty of choice when the time came.

Duty done, they drifted towards the circle of beaten earth where chariot teams were being put through their paces.

They pushed their way to the front of the crowd and found several fine teams wheeling rapidly around the enclosure—all high-steeping, nervy, proud. Only one truly drew the eye, however: four perfectly matched blacks pulling a Roman-style chariot. A fair-haired youth drove them, a Gaul or Saxon, though he wore the reins wrapped round his waist in the Roman style of racing. Esca could tell he barely had to touch the horses guide them, in perfect unison, along the tight curve of the makeshift circus.

Next to him, Marcus sighed, and Esca turned to find a look on his face he rarely saw these days—a wistfulness so fierce the less charitable might call it envy. He felt a version of it himself, had to push away the memory of his father’s bays, the pride he’d had in training them before that world was taken from him.

“Come,” Esca put a hand on Marcus’s elbow. “We should find a place for the night before it grows too late.”

They turned away, almost bumping into the swarthy giant of a man who’d come up behind them.

“Pardon, domine,” Esca said, but the man ignored him, clapping his hands on Marcus’s shoulders.

“Marcus,” he boomed. “Marcus Flavius Acquila. As I live and breathe. I thought that was you. I was just coming over to make sure.”

“Silenus?” Surprise turned to delight as Marcus returned the man’s embrace. “It’s been years. We served together in Judea,” he explained to Esca as he escaped Silenus’s embrace. “What are you doing here.”

“Transferred to Galicia.” Silenus shrugged. “I don’t mind. At least there’s a decent circus at this post—so I’ve splashed out and bought myself a team. Magnificent, aren’t they?”

“The blacks, they’re yours?”

“They are now.” Silenus beamed. “Though I’ll be going without new armor for a long time because of them.”

“They’re beautiful,” Marcus said, and it wouldn’t have taken an old comrade at arms to hear the longing in his voice.

“Tell you what.” Silenus was magnanimous with his new treasure. “Why don’t I get that stripling off them, and you take them for a turn—you’re a fine charioteer, I remember that.”

Marcus flinched. But he was nothing if not brave. “Not anymore,” he said, flicking the hem of his tunic aside to show the scars. Silenus sucked in a breath. “Put paid to my career in the Legions,” Marcus went on, “and it’s still apt to betray me at the worst of times. I daren’t risk losing control of your beauties.”

Silenus nodded, looking stricken. “I didn’t know.” He squeezed Marcus’s shoulder again—he seemed a man given to physical affection. Then he brightened. “I know. The chariot’ll take two, if they aren’t heavy. Why doesn’t your servant ride with you? If he knows his way around horses, that is?”

“My brother,” Marcus corrected. Silenus had the grace to take that in stride. “And he does know his way around horses—he is a chieftain’s son of the Brigante. Esca, meet my old comrade, Silenus.”

Esca bent his head, and took a kind of spiteful joy in Silenus’s visible struggle to contain his curiosity about this information.

“What say you, Esca?” Marcus continued. “Shall we take Silenus up on his generous offer and try the team?”

It was in Esca’s heart to say no. There are some kinds of pleasure that are worse than pain when you leave them behind. But the light in Marcus’s eyes overpowered him. It always did.

Silenus signaled to the driver to bring the team over to the edge of the circle and gestured to him to dismount. Wearing a grin like a challenge, Marcus took the reins and hopped into the chariot, light as a boy. He reached down a hand for Esca.

Esca knew Marcus was a fine horseman. Lugh knew they had spent enough time traveling, hunting, running for their lives for him to know that. But he had never seen him handle a team of trained horses. It stirred his heart strangely to see how Marcus gently tested them, found their mettle, the ways they liked to be led before he pushed them to any speed.

But when he did, they horses fairly flew beneath his whip. Esca caught his breath and steadied himself on the side of the chariot. He remembered this sensation, wind hitting his face, the chariot rocking like a boat under him. He stood behind him, and so couldn’t see Marcus’s face. But he could imagine what it looked like—eyes narrowed, lips parted enough to show his teeth, jaw forward like a ship’s prow. Esca’s skin tingled, as if all the blood in his body were rising to the surface.

They sped around the circus once, twice, Marcus expertly twitching the reins to avoid the other teams. On the third go round, however, he had to jerk the horses hard to the left to get them out of the way of a slow-moving pair of roans, and the movement threw him hard against the opposite side of the carriage.

Marcus grunted once, more frustration than pain, but the damage had been done. The jolt had knocked something out of alignment in his bad leg, and his balance was shot.

The horses slowed, moved out of unison, seemed about to get their feet tangled in each others. But before that could happen, Esca stepped more firmly behind Marcus, and reached around him to take the reins still lashed around his waist.

“Lean back,” he hissed. “Let go and let me steer.

Marcus did, though Esca could tell it took something for him to do it. He was heavy, and they staggered for a moment before they could come to some kind of balance, Esca’s arms tight against Marcus’s sides, Marcus’s arse slotted just above Esca’s hipbones, letting Esca take some of the weight of his bad side.

And then it was surprisingly easy. They’d ridden like this before, of course, but then Marcus had been a dead weight that Esca could barely keep in the saddle. Now he was entirely alive, and he put his hands over Esca’s on the reins and moved with him, the two of them guiding the horses together, as if it were a dance they’d always known.

It was almost too much—the speed, the thunder of the horses’ hooves, the press of Marcus’s broad back, the smell of dust and horse and sweat in his nostrils. Esca fought to keep his head clear, but he couldn’t help himself from hardening as his cock rubbed against cleft of Marcus’s arse.

He felt the blood fly to his cheeks—half-embarrassment, half-desire. He tried to put some distance between Marcus’s body and his own. But Marcus wouldn’t let him. With a laugh as free as any Esca had heard from him, he tilted his hips, rocking himself against Esca’s now aching cock. Esca groaned and tried to stop himself from biting into Marcus’s shoulder. The horses, as if sensing the confusion in the chariot’s basket, seemed to lengthen their stride, pull o.

“We can’t,” Esca murmured, though his body seemed to disagree with him. “What about your friend’s chariot?”

Marcus made a sound Esca had never heard from him before. It might have been a giggle. Then he sighed and stilled his hips. “I suppose you’re right. Silenus has spent his hard-earned pay on it—it wouldn’t do to make a mess of it before he’d gotten the chance to enjoy it. You can let go now; I’ve found my balance.

Esca stepped away. Marcus slowed the horses and took them on another circuit—to cool them down, and to let Esca quiet the erection that tented out the front of his tunic. Esca couldn’t tell for sure, but he though Marcus might have been faced with the same predicament.

At Marcus’s signal, the team came to a halt so instantaneously he might have cast a freezing spell.

“Well done, well done,” Silenus said as he handed them down. “Aren’t they gems? Worth all the gold I paid for them. Did you two good, too. You were a bit peaky when I first laid eyes on you, I can tell you now, but these beauties have put some color in your cheeks.” He clapped them both heartily on the back. “Come now, I think you owe me dinner for all that.”

They couldn’t very well refuse, but as they followed Silenus back into the crowded fair, Marcus gave Esca a conspiratorial grin and said to Silenus, “Of course, old friend, but I’m afraid we’ll need to retire early. We have many things to do on the morrow.”


End file.
